[baby Fever] Ft. Miya Osamu

⁂ Jujutsu Kaisen Master List ⁂

Aoi Toudou

Gojo Satoru

Megumi Fushiguro

Nanami Kento

Nobara Kugisaki

Toge Inumaki

Yuuji Itadori

breaths are shortening, vision is blurring, throat is closing, stomach is aching what the FUCK do you mean NAGI IS ELIMINATED💔💔💔

— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…” 

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her. 

Keep reading

Enough to Go By -- a Shigaraki x F!reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 1

You had a best friend when you were little, just like almost everyone, and the two of you were as different as two people could be. He was a boy and you were a girl. You were the oldest of four, and he was the youngest of two. His family was rich because his dad was some kind of business genius, and your family was – not. You and your best friend had exactly two things in common. First, you lived across from each other on the same street, him in a big new house and you in one that had been falling apart since before your parents were born. And second, and maybe most important, neither of you had a quirk.

It was okay for your best friend. He still had time. People in his family got their quirks when they were two or three or four or maybe even six, like they were supposed to. But everyone in your family is born with theirs. Your family’s quirks do different things, but they’re the same type of thing – powering up or watering down or just changing some part of somebody else, and they’re active until the person’s old enough to turn them off.

You hated being home. You had one younger brother who could turn your hearing up and down, one younger sister who could turn your color vision on and off, and twin baby brothers who could make you throw up whenever they wanted to. Going to school, or going across the street to play in front of Tenko’s house with him and his big sister and his dog, was the closest things ever got to normal for you.

Tenko wanted to be a hero. You knew he’d be the best hero, because he was a hero already, even without a quirk. Nobody was every left out when you and Tenko played at school, because Tenko could make everybody feel included, and you spent so much time trying to placate your siblings that you knew how to make sure everybody had fun. But for everybody to have fun, people needed to be there. Tenko was the one everybody believed in, the one who made everybody feel important. When you spent time with Tenko, you felt like you belonged. Tenko was already a hero, even as a kid. You knew he’d be amazing at it when he grew up.

Only he didn’t grow up, your best friend. You walked home from school together one day, said goodbye and crossed to your opposite sides of the street, and when you looked out your window the next morning, Tenko’s house was gone.

A villain did it. That’s what everybody said, and you didn’t know what else it could be, because Tenko’s house was in ruins, like a giant had smashed it with its foot or someone had blown it up from the inside. You raced across the street without your shoes on, right into the middle of what was left, and even though your parents spent money they didn’t have on a specialist whose quirk let them wipe memories right out of your brain, you still have nightmares sometimes about what you saw. Tenko’s big sister Hana was dead. His dog was dead. His mom and his grandparents and his dad were dead. But he wasn’t there, so you made yourself believe he was alive.

And some part of you kept believing, even after the foundations of an apartment building were laid over the spot where Tenko’s house used to be, even after your family moved away. Your youngest younger siblings, a set of triplets born after you moved, thought Tenko was your imaginary friend because of how much you talked about him. And even once you stopped talking about him, you never quite stopped thinking about him. Your best friend, who wanted to be a hero. Who would have been the greatest hero the world had ever seen.

Everyone else forgot him, forgot him so cleanly that you almost wonder if it was a quirk. But you remember your best friend – small things, weird things, like how he’d sometimes get so excited he’d almost cry. His All Might impression, which was so bad it almost worked. His dry skin and the way he’d scratch his neck. You wonder what happened, why he wasn’t found with his family. You wonder a lot of things.

“Everybody loses touch with their neighborhood kids,” Hirono says when you say something about it, while you and your friends are getting drunk in Kazuo’s backyard one weekend. “You’re not special.”

“Don’t be mean,” Yoshimi protests. “Her friend died. That’s different!”

“She just said he didn’t die. She thinks he’s still alive,” Sho says. He whistles and rotates one finger by his ear. “Cuckoo.”

“There should be a podcast about this,” Mitsuru says seriously, and Hirono and Mitsuko laugh at him. “No, there should! Five people confirmed murdered and a kid goes missing – and it’s never solved? That’s podcast material.”

“It’s newsworthy,” Kazuo says, his voice as expressionless as it always is these days. “Have you looked it up?”

“Yes,” you say. Too many times, probably. “The articles don’t say my friend went missing.”

“They said he died?”

“They don’t mention him at all.”

“Ooh. Spooky.” Sho makes a UFO noise, and Yoji, Yoshimi’s on-again, off-again asshole boyfriend, throws in some spiritfingers to go with it. “Maybe he’s imaginary after all.”

“Or maybe you do have a quirk,” Yuichiro, Mitsuko’s latest too-innocent boyfriend says earnestly. “Your family’s all status effects, right? Maybe you made everybody else forget him.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask blankly. You’re a little drunk. “He’s my best friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend,” Kazuo says. Kazuo’s also a little drunk. “You don’t have a quirk. I would know. I know everything.”

The confidence is annoying, or it would be, if it wasn’t true – and if you didn’t know just how badly Kazuo’s quirk has ruined his life. “Maybe not,” Ryuhei says speculatively. “You only know what you know to know, you know?”

You try to parse that for a second, then give up. Mitsuru is wheezing with laughter. “Come on,” Ryuhei says, annoyed. “You know what I mean. Kazuo only knows the answers to questions he knows to ask, right? What if he hasn’t asked the right question?”

Kazuo’s quirk is called Search Engine, and it’s not an overstatement. He can ascertain anything he asks about, and if the questions aren’t hyperspecific, he can take in vast amounts of information. Too much information for even the smartest person to sort through and interpret without going crazy under the strain. He was going to be a hero, but UA High pushed him too hard, and something went wrong in his head. The smartest guy you know, who used to be funny and kind and should be changing the world for the better right now, is instead drunk in his parents’ backyard, still trying to figure out where his emotions went. You haven’t seen Kazuo care about anything in two years.

But you can see him thinking about what Ryuhei said, trying to wrap his mind around a question. “Don’t,” you say, and he looks at you, puzzled. “If I had a quirk, I’d have had it when I was born, just like the rest of my family.”

“Your family has some funky quirks,” Yoji says. You have a feeling you know where he’s going with this, and you’re not wrong. “Isn’t one of your cousins a villainess?”

“She barely counts,” Hirono says. “What could they even charge her with if they caught her? Possession of a video camera and bad taste in men? They could charge Yoshimi with that, too.”

“Hey!”

Sho and Ryuhei join in on the ribbing, and you lean back against the steps. Kazuo rises from his chair a little unsteadily and comes to sit by you. “You never mentioned this friend of yours before.”

“It never came up.” You glance sidelong at him. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“No,” Kazuo says. He hiccups. His alcohol tolerance has always been weirdly low. “I’m surprised you never asked me to find him. Maybe I could.”

“I know.” If Kazuo ever recovers from what UA High did to him, the government will be all over him. He could find anything, anyone – but like Ryuhei said, he has to know what questions to ask. “I think I’m scared of what you’d find. I don’t want him to be dead.”

“Dead might be better.”

You almost choke on the sip of vodka you just took. “Excuse me?”

“If he died, he died,” Kazuo says. No shit. “If he’s still alive, he’s been missing for fifteen years. During my work-study, I assisted in the search for several missing children. Nothing good had happened to the ones we found alive.”

You hadn’t thought about that, what it would actually mean if Tenko is still alive, and your brain supplies you instantly with a list of terrible things that could have happened to your best friend. Your imagination is pretty vivid. Your stomach turns. “I don’t want that,” you say. “I just want him to be okay.”

“Sometimes dead is better,” Kazuo says again. And then he’s quiet.

You try to get back into the mood of the party, but what Kazuo said sticks, and you’re kind of mad at him about it. The old Kazuo wouldn’t have said something like that, or else he would have put it more gently. You miss the old Kazuo. Thanks to a villain fifteen years ago and UA fucking High, you’re now short two best friends.

Kazuo’s a good guy, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t drawn to him because of who he reminded you of. You have a soft spot for dark-haired boys who want to be heroes. If Tenko hadn’t gone missing and the two of you had gotten to grow up together, you probably would have wound up with a big, stupid crush on him, the supercharged version of how you felt about Kazuo. But a relationship between the two of you wouldn’t have worked out, for the same reason your relationship with Kazuo didn’t work. Being a hero comes first. Being a hero always comes first with guys like them. You probably wouldn’t like them as much if it didn’t.

Getting drunk at Kazuo’s is a typical Friday night pastime among your friends, and usually everybody sleeps over. Everybody usually includes you, but you have to work tomorrow, which means you have to go home. Sometimes you and Kazuo still fool around when you’re both drunk, and you want to avoid that, too. You drink a glass of water and start sobering up while the others are still sorting out places to sleep, and then you tell them all good by and head out, taking three trains in a loop around the city to give yourself even more time to sober up before you have to walk home. You don’t live in the nicest neighborhood. You need to be alert.

When you finally get off the train at your stop, you realize you’ve got another problem. You’re hungry, and you won’t have time to cook when you get home if you want to sleep at all tonight. The all-night convenience store a few blocks up from your apartment is beckoning to you, and you give in without a fight. You’ll pick something to eat, eat it in the store for one last period of sobering-up, and walk the rest of the way home.

You feel a little better with a few bites of food in your stomach, and you’re pretty sure you’re not going to throw it up later. You hang out in the corner of the shop, a good spot to people-watch from if there were any people in here but you and the owner. The TV behind the counter is blaring the news about some villain attack, somewhere – two dumb-ass middle schoolers, one sludge villain, one can of whoop-ass opened by All Might. What else is new.

“Turn that shit off.”

The voice is raspy, and it’s coming from the far corner of the store. So there’s somebody else in here after all. You rise to your tiptoes and peer over the shelves to spot the speaker. They’re wearing a black hoodie with the hood up and browsing for energy drinks, and apparently they have a real problem with what’s on TV – which means the proprietor has a real problem with them. “Got a problem with heroics? Or does seeing real heroes just remind you what a bum you are?”

“Fuck off,” the guy in the hoodie says sharply. “You’ve got more in common with me than you do with them. If you were there, you think you’d run in to help? No. You’d wait for a hero, because you’re useless and pathetic. At least I don’t walk around pretending to be something I’m not.”

Hoodie guy sort of has a point, even if you don’t like how he’s phrasing it. Hoodie guy also sucks at reading the room, because after that little back-and-forth, he yanks an energy drink out of the case and a package of sour candies off a shelf and heads up to the counter. The proprietor laughs in his face. “Get out of here. If you think I’m selling even a stick of gum to you, you’re out of your mind.”

Hoodie guy’s shoulders tense. “You’re so desperate to defend All Might that you won’t take my money? He’s not gonna fuck you.”

You must be a little more drunk than you thought, because you have to clamp your hands over your mouth to stifle a laugh. But there’s nothing funny about the situation that’s unfolding in front of you. The proprietor’s looking increasingly pissed, and Hoodie Guy’s hands are out of his pockets, open and twitching at his sides. You don’t know what either of their quirks are, but you’ve got seven siblings. You know what it looks like when a situation’s about to spiral out of control.

“I said get out,” the proprietor spits. He shoves the drink and the package of candy back across the counter, hard enough that they fall off and roll across the floor. Hoodie Guy’s hands begin to lift from his sides, and you step out of your corner. “You want to start something? Go ahead. The cops will be here so fast –”

“Not fast enough for you,” Hoodie Guy hisses. His hands are all the way up, reaching over the counter.

You scoop the snacks off the floor and duck into the scant space between Hoodie Guy and the counter. You elbow him a bit by accident and he stumbles, swears at you. You ignore him and focus on the proprietor. “Hi. I’m still hungry. Can I get these?”

The proprietor squints at you, nonplussed. Behind you, Hoodie Guy’s gotten his feet under him, and if it’s possible, he’s extra pissed. “Get out of my way.”

“You don’t want this kind of trouble,” you say, ignoring Hoodie Guy. He’s the instigator. You need him to shut up so you can handle this before it escalates. “I know you don’t. You want him out of here and he wants his snacks. If you don’t want his money, mine’s just as good.”

You’re conscious of Hoodie Guy looming over your shoulder. He’s not all that much taller than you, but he’s standing a little too close. You take your wallet out, and that seems to settle the issue. “You’re lucky your girlfriend’s here to help you out. That’ll be ¥1800.”

You pay up and collect the snacks. When you turn away from the counter, Hoodie Guy’s right there, and you get your first good look at his face – or at the life-sized model hand clamped over his face. That’s – weird. You can’t see his expression, but his tone of voice is unmistakable. “If you think –”

“I know, I know,” you interrupt. “You’re not gonna fuck me.”

It’s not a joke you’d make sober, but with the proprietor calmed slightly down, you have to knock Hoodie Guy off his game somehow. It works. He makes a weird, strangled sound, and you grab him by his sleeve and tow him out the door.

He lets you do it, which is a surprise, and you let him go as soon as the doors close behind you. You hold out the snack and the energy drink. “Here.”

You can’t see his face, but you can see one red eye, peering out at you through the fingers of the hand. “It was pretty stupid of you to get in my way.”

“It was pretty stupid of you to go up to the counter. If you’d stormed off he wouldn’t have chased you.” You’ve seen Sho use that tactic before – needle a store owner until they want him gone more than they want to check his pockets. “Just take this, okay?”

He raises one hand and scratches at his neck. There’s something familiar about the motion, and the scarred, scraped-raw patch of skin there. Maybe you’ve seen something similar at work. “Either you used some kind of quirk or you got lucky. Which is it?”

“Neither. I have seven siblings and I’m good at toning things down.” You’ve wished for a quirk that lets you affect others’ moods more than a few times. You had to learn your de-escalation techniques the hard way. “Do you want these or not?”

He’s still scratching, and something’s pulling at the back of your mind, harder and harder. “Seven siblings,” he says slowly. “That’s three more.”

“Three more than what?” you say, puzzled. And then it clicks.

You have seven siblings now. When you lived across the street from your best friend, you only had four. And now you get why the scratching looks so familiar, why there’s so much scar tissue in the place he’s clawing at – because he’s been scratching that same spot for a decade and a half. It doesn’t matter than his hair is grey-blue instead of black, that his eyes are red instead of grey. It doesn’t even matter that he’s got a creepy hand stuck over his face. You know who you’re looking at, and the surge of joy that overtakes you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

You’d keep it to yourself, ordinarily. But tonight you’re a little drunk, and you can’t hold it in. “Tenko,” you say, and he freezes like he’s been struck by lightning. “You’re alive!”

Tenko stays frozen until you reach for him, at which point he bolts, and you really shouldn’t follow him – but you’re drunk and it’s your best friend and he’s alive just like you knew he was, so you chase after him. He was a little clumsy when you were kids. You were always a little faster on your feet, but his legs are longer than yours now, and he keeps you at a fair distance until he trips.

It’s sort of your fault he trips. He’s looking back over his shoulder, checking where you are, and he’s not watching his feet. It’s a bad fall. He sprawls out, the hand over his face dislodging and bouncing across the concrete, and you hear him cursing under his breath in a voice that carries a familiar strain. You’ve heard that before. You do what you did back then. You run to his side and drop to your knees, hands outstretched to help. “Tenko –”

“Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” Tenko lashes out with one hand, and instinct tells you to get out of range. The hand he lashes out with looks wrong – hurt, maybe, in the fall. His other hand is up over his face, covering it the same way the model hand was. “Father – I need – where –”

Father. You wonder if Tenko knows what happened to his father – but he’s feeling around on the concrete with the maybe-broken hand, and you realize what he’s looking for. “It’s over here,” you say. “Stay there. I can –”

“No.” Tenko lunges past you, seizes the hand, secures it over his face. Then he turns on you, and the hatred in his eyes sends a bolt of pure terror down your spine.

He knocks you onto your back. You know some self-defense – like any girl, like any person without a quirk – and you kick and thrash, arching your back, trying to throw him off. Some part of your mind is still spinning, because it’s Tenko, your best friend, who wants to be a hero – and it’s Tenko, his forearm coming down across your throat and half his body weight leaning onto it. You cough and sputter, and Tenko raises his other hand, all five fingers outstretched. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll kill you fast. Lie and it’ll be slow. Who are you?”

You don’t know how he expects you to answer with his arm over your throat. Dark spots are beginning to fill your vision. You shove at his arm, and his hand closes around your wrist. His grip is hot and dry and shaking, and a split second after he’s touched you, the burning starts. It’s like his hand is dipped in acid, like it’s clawing through your skin one layer at a time, and you scream in pain. Or you try to. He increases the pressure on your throat and chokes the sound off. “Don’t touch me,” he snarls. “And don’t scream. Who are you?”

You manage to rasp out your name, and you see Tenko’s expression shift. “We went to school together,” you gasp. “I lived across the street from you. We played together. You were –”

You black out for a second, and the pressure on your throat lifts slightly. “What?” Tenko spits. “I was what?”

“My best friend,” you whisper. Your eyes well up, tears running down your face when you blink. “I missed you so much –”

Tenko stares down at you for a moment longer. Then he recoils away from you, up onto his feet and back five or six steps. He’s cradling his wrist. You roll from your back to your side and gasp for air. There’s a rattle in your breathing that tells you your windpipe’s damaged, and when you blink the tears and spots from your vision to stare at your wrist, you see that your skin is raw, bloody and oozing. There’s the outline of all five of Tenko’s fingers, his thumb and middle finger joined, rotted into your skin.

“Go,” Tenko says. You look numbly up at him and see his face twisted behind the hand. “Now.”

Your wrist – his hair – his eyes – Tenko has a quirk now. An awful quirk. “What happened to you?” you ask helplessly. “Where did you go? Are you –”

“Go!” Tenko snaps at you. “Before I change my mind. Run!”

You scramble backwards and collide with something. The energy drink and the package of candy, which you dropped when you ran to help Tenko after he fell. The sight of them makes you want to burst into tears again. You don’t want to take them with you. You bought them for him. Without looking his way, you pick them up and set them on the ground between the two of you, pushing them towards him so he knows who they’re for. Then you force yourself to your hands and your knees and your feet and run for your life, away from the best friend you now know you’ve lost for good.

You didn’t want Tenko to be dead, and he isn’t. But Kazuo was right, too. Maybe dead would have been better. Anything would have been better than this.

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notes 📝

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🌙Currently close for requesting a smut/fluff/angst.

🌹for smut , ❤️ for fluff , 🥀 for angst

Kaeya

🌹 smut

Plaything

Jealousy

Mangastore

❤️ fluff

Complimenting

Thoma

🌹 smut

Honey

Darling

Sweetheart

Threesome

Plaything

Baby

Childe

🌹 smut

Imagine

Drabble

Threesome

Plaything

Honey

Mangastore

❤️ fluff

Complimenting

Diluc

🌹 smut

Morning

Husbando

Drabble

Friends heard you moaning

Plaything

Baby

Mangastore

A night at his lair

Sweetheart

Morning Drabble

❤️ fluff

Complimenting

Zhongli

🌹 smut

Rainy Day

Drabble

Plaything

Mangastore

Beloved

❤️ fluff

Complimenting

Itto

🌹 smut

Drabble

F**k him and his stamina pt.1

pt.2

Lumine

🌹 smut

Traveler….

Xiao

🌹 smut

First time

OC Stories [ Genshin ]

Luna x Diluc [ Finally Mine ]

Miya Twins

🌹 smut

Osamu x f!reader x Atsumu

Ushijima

Sweet Pleasure

Vyn

🌹 smut

Caught

Marius

🌹smut

Imagine

Ryomen Sukuna

🌹 🥀 smut and angst

Lily

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

AVATAR

Neteyam

— Need you close to me || series

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5 || EPILOGUE

Me looking for fan fictions but instead I get flashed by sex bot ads under the same tag

☾ .⭒˚ the sixth of march ♡ rafayel birthday special

☾ .⭒˚ genre: smut, porn with very little plot

⋆.˚ ☾ word count: 5.09k

☾ .⭒˚ content warning: mdni,  semi-public bathroom sex, switch!raf, whiny!raf, semi-public sex, mirror sex, oral sex m!receiving, face/throat fucking, standing sex, hitting it from the back, creampies, cum swallowing, cum in panties, birthday sex, leaking cum in public, please let me know if i missed anything!

☾ .⭒˚ a/n: it’s our little fishy’s birthday! happy birthday rafayel! <3 short lil (lol 5k words short) smut for our precious raf’s birthday. idk why i always end up having raf x y/n sex be in the bathroom its purely coincidental LOL

please note that this is NOT based on his birthday event story OR the birthday event card. It might be somewhat similar but i wrote it entirely separately. If there’s any resemblance its purely coincidental, so don’t expect this fic to be accurate to the event!

as always pls enjoy :) also come interact with me on twit @/aeyumicore

⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚

“bruschetta, miss?”

your head snaps to the politely smiling waiter in front of you, holding a tray of the most delicious glistening bread bites, topped with vibrant red cherry tomatoes and fresh green basil. 

“no, thank you,” you decline politely, having had your fill of the endless lavish hors d'oeuvres at the birthday party you’d put together for rafayel. instead, you let your eyes wander back to the highly in-demand purple haired birthday boy across the sea of random people you didn't know, and honestly you weren’t sure rafayel knew them either.

you’d originally wanted something quaint and intimate for rafayel’s 25th birthday, but thanks to thomas it’d turned into a huge elaborate party with business partners, sponsors, and just so many important industry contacts. the guest list spun out of control so fast, until it became a full blown business event.

honestly, you felt so terrible. you knew this is not what rafayel wanted for his birthday, but he was being an incredibly good sport about it, making polite conversation with every single person that approached him. which was extremely unlike him, and that scared you even more. besides the brief embrace you’d shared when he’d arrived, you hadn't had the chance to spend any time with him tonight.

so, like you had the rest of the night, you stared at him from across the ballroom floor, admiring him from afar. he was so unfairly dashing in his white jacket adorned with a gold leafed lapel chain that matched the stars and moon that hung off his golden waist chain. his black tie hung loosely against his hard chest, contrasting beautifully against the shining white pearls on his lapel. 

he’d picked out and gifted you a matching dress for you to wear, and had a driver deliver it to you this morning. it was nothing short of art itself, an extravagant golden a-line tulle evening gown with an expensive sequin and pearl applique that mirrored the starry night sky. the strapless sweetheart neckline pushed your cleavage up as the high slit exposed your bare legs, leaving you feeling beautiful and confident, something rafayel always knew how to do.

rafayel looks up from the undoubtedly very rich and important man he’d been talking to, and catches your stare from across the room. his lips don’t quirk, still caught in his conversation, but his eyes sparkle as they drink you in, the corners crinkling in their own little smile. 

you grin back at him, raising the glass of champagne you’d been holding onto for the entire night, and taking a languid gulp. as you lower the glass, you purposely let a droplet drip down your chin, using your index finger to catch it and bringing it up to your tongue to lick it off.

even from yards away, you can see rafayel’s eyes darken and his neck bob with a gulp. you watch as he falters in his words, trying to steel himself back into his conversation. chuckling to yourself, you turn away from him to give a brief reprieve of your teasing.

the champagne lights your face ablaze, so you decide to run to the bathroom to touch up before your makeup starts melting off. you weave through the hordes of elegantly dressed guests, slightly in shock of how many people showed up to celebrate rafayel. or at least showed up to get in his good graces. 

the banquet hall you’d booked was expensive and intricate, and the bathrooms were no different. as you slipped into the single unisex washroom you barely noticed as rafayel slipped in behind you before you could let the door shut fully. 

you yelped in surprise as he followed you into the single stall bathroom, but the alarm dissipated when you realized it was him and not some random stranger. 

“rafayel!” you reprimanded, pushing the door shut behind him so as to make sure no prying eyes caught the two of you, “what are you doing?!”

rafayel doesn’t respond, instead capturing you in his embrace, his hands settling around the small of your back as he pulls you tightly into his hard body. 

“you shouldn’t tease me all night, it’s not very nice,” he hums, playing with a curled lock of hair against your cheek.

you feign innocence, eyes widening and head cocking to the side, “what am i doing?”

rafayel pouts, his cheeks rosy under the fluorescent bathroom lights, “it’s my birthday, you should be nicer to me.” he tucks the strand of hair he’d been playing with behind your ear.

“i haven’t gotten to see you, all night,” he sulks, his voice tinged with a sharp whine.

you can’t help but giggle at his childish behavior and tease him a bit, “but you were looking at me just earlier!”

he grumbles, thoroughly unamused, “you know that’s not what i mean.”

you sigh and let yourself melt into his hold, your arms wrapping around him in return, “i know, i’m sorry raf. this was supposed to be small, just you, me, and some friends. it got out of control so fast.”

he continues with his pouty tirade. “it’s my birthday,” he whines, burying his face deep into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, “and i don’t even get to enjoy the only thing i want.”

he pulls away so he can admire you again, this time right before his hungry and waiting eyes like he should’ve been able to. his gaze devours every inch of you, from the exposed and flushed skin to the way the dress hugs your figure in all the right ways.

“i miss you,” he complains, eyes still drinking you in and hands tight against your waist.

“m’sorry raf,” you murmur, dusting his purple locks away from his eyes, “i missed you too.” 

he sighs dramatically, “i don’t want to talk to any more of those old farts. especially when you look like this right across the room.”

“it’s a beautiful dress. i didn’t have the opportunity to thank you for it yet,” you mumble bashfully, suddenly nervous under his scrutinizing stare.

“i knew you would look exquisite in it,” he grumbles, “but i thought i would be able to spend my night admiring it on you. and off you.”

and though you can tell rafayel is half joking, you can’t help but feel bad that you’re partly to blame for him having to spend his birthday like this, with people who wanted his attention for their own personal selfish reasons.

“i’m sorry babe, it’ll be over soon. i’ll make it up to you, i promise!”

sighing deeply and theatrically again, “how will you make it up to me? i only get one birthday a year, you know?”

you get a mischievous and filthy idea. your hands travel from his back to his abdomen, pushing slightly to create space between your bodies. he eyes you curiously, but lets you continue. as your hands travel further south, undoing the intricate latch of his expensive belt, his eyes widen.

“h-hey! what are you doing?!”

as you get down onto your knees, pulling his pants down with you in your descent, you look up at him through your eyelashes, batting them earnestly, “my birthday boy is unhappy, and we can’t have that can we?” though the bathroom is spotless, the tiled floor likely cleaner than your own bathroom, you’re careful to bunch the beautiful gown up and hold it above your calves, as best as you can.

“i can just give you one of your birthday gifts right now,” you murmur, “but you’ll have to wait until we’re home to unwrap the rest.”

rafayel only gulps in response, his cheeks and earlobes slowly turning crimson as he’s left standing in just his briefs. mesmerized, you watch as his erection lifts against the restraint of his underwear, grasping the base with your fingers and reveling in the way he whimpers into the brisk bathroom air.

you rest your lips against the tent in his briefs, licking at his length against the clothing. he hisses, hands finding purchase in the sink behind him to ground himself against your teasing licks. you keep your eyes glued to his, batting your eyelashes as you take his cock out. as the cold clean air of the bathroom hits him, he sucks in another sharp breath, gripping the sink almost painfully.

rafayel has to remind himself how to breathe as he watches your beautiful eyes widen as you lick at the copious amounts of pre cum dripping down his length and onto his briefs. 

“h-holy shit,” he wheezes out, throwing his head back as your tongue skillfully maneuvers over his glistening bulbous head, the skin pink and angry, demanding attention. you take him fully into your mouth, moaning at the taste of his slick filling your senses. rafayel whines and twitches at the vibrations of your mouth, trying desperately to keep from busting his load into your mouth right there.

you tease him dutifully, only letting his cock enter your mouth, not taking him into your throat just yet. a mess of whimpers and moans, rafayel holds himself back from forcing his length down into your warm and waiting throat, like you’d let him so many times before. the sight of you, all done up in the beautiful golden gown he’d personally picked for you, on your knees for him, drove him insane, but he wanted to be a good boy for you.

“baby,” he whimpers, beautiful sobs breaking out from his mouth, “you feel so g-good.”

your mouth bobs up and down earnestly at his praises, and he’s being so good for you you want to reward him. but your hands are busy holding up your dress from falling to the bathroom floor which makes it difficult for you to service his entire impressive length. so instead, you use one hand to bring each of his palms into your curled hair. luckily you’d worn your hair down in tousled waves so you were able to easily thread his fingers into them, urging him to grip onto you.

you hold his hand there until he gets the message of what you’re asking him to do, or rather giving him permission to do, and he hardens further with excitement. his fingers tighten at your scalp as he begins to fuck into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the feel of your thick lips against the veins of his cock.

“hah – you’re so good to me,” he pants, pelvis fervently hitting your mouth as you do your best to relax your throat and take him as deeply as possible. he continues to babble, “f-fuck feels so good baby, i-i can’t stop.” he handles you roughly, hands tight and pace unrelenting, but you absolutely love when he’s this demanding with you.

you moan at his words, feeling yourself dampen in your panties, trying to let the vibrations hit him when he’s as deep as possible. you use your tongue to stroke the vein on the underside of his shaft, wanting to see your birthday boy come undone just for you. he bucks excitedly into your mouth, absolutely lost in the way your mouth attempts to accommodate every inch of him. 

“you take me so fucking well,” he whines, still fucking vigorously into your mouth, “your mouth was made for me to fuck, my perfect girl.”

rafayel’s vision blacks as you gulp around him, your throat constricting impossibly tight against his cock. the sounds of your guttural choking drive him to the edge, and when he looks down to see tears running down your gorgeous face and drool trailing down your chin, his erection lurches with the need to release deep down your throat. 

“m’gonna cum baby,” he warns, “you can take it all right? you can, you will.” 

you hum in response, and the vibrations send him over the edge. with his hands intertwined in your hair, rafayel lets out a strangled moan as he absolutely explodes into your waiting mouth. 

you do your best not to choke on the sheer amount of cum he releases, the sweet-salty taste blinding all your senses. you lick his cock diligently, working him through his climax, and savoring every last drop of his essence. 

he twitches with overstimulation inside your mouth, but still painfully hard. you release him and gasp for air, as stray rivulets of cum streak down your chin. rafayel bends down to lift you up off your knees, mesmerized by the fucked out look on your face, even though he’d only ravished your mouth. 

“that was incredible, you are incredible. i wasn’t too rough was i?” he inspects your face carefully, wiping a tear off your cheek.

“you weren’t,” you reassured with a smile, turning to the mirror and sink behind him. 

“is your birthday night slightly better now?” you tease, fixing your appearance in the mirror. you wash the spit and cum from your chin, and then dab carefully at the dark smudges of makeup smeared under your eyes.

“i want my other gift now,” rafayel mumbles, coming up behind you and moving your dress to the side so that the slit parts and exposes the back of your thighs. 

“h-here?” you ask in disbelief, as if you didn’t just suck him off. but your risque streak had evaporated as fast as it had come, and now you quivered at the idea of having sex in this private, but still public, bathroom, with dozens of people outside likely looking for the artist himself. 

“can i please?” he pouts, and you can see his begging eyes behind you in the mirror, “it’s still my birthday for another few hours.” his hands fiddle with your dress impatiently, but still waiting for your consent nonetheless. “and i was so good tonight, talking to those people all night when all i  wanted was to be with you.”

your heart squeezes at his adorable pleas. you can’t deny the way the idea of rafayel taking you in this shared public space has you leaking. the hungry longing in his eyes, masked by the adorable puppy eyes, makes you cave. you nod gently, and rafayel’s instantly on his knees, burying himself under the tulle of your dress.

you can feel rafayel pausing with his face close to your heat. “raf?” you whisper, breathless with anticipation. 

“when did you buy these?” you realize he’s admiring your panties, part of a set you’d bought to surprise him for his birthday. you’d nearly forgotten you wore it under your dress, wanting him to unwrap you like a present after the party. 

“happy birthday rafayel,” you giggle weakly, his breath fanning over your cunt, making you squirm. the purple haired artist is speechless under you, staring at the intricate embroidered sea stars and shells that adorned the turquoise semi sheer mesh, making it look like you were naked save for the beautiful applique. 

“you’re telling me you were wearing this under the dress?” you can tell rafayel was on the edge of going feral just by admiring the little knit shells against your most delicate region. you shivered thinking about how’d he’d act when he’d see the matching bra, hopefully later tonight. his words came out strained, as he tried his best to keep himself level. 

“it’s your birthday, and i wrapped myself up nicely for you,” you murmur, as you lean over the sink with your hands gripping the sides, waiting for him to finally do something. you almost want to step back and shove yourself into him, but you do your best to remain patient, letting him admire every inch of your lace clad cunt.

he swears, finally snapping out of his trance, “fuck, i will take my time with you later. right now i j-just need you.” you hiss as his fingers finally glaze over your no doubt glistening folds, the cold air nipping at your exposed and sensitive area. he pulls the intricate lace off of you, stuffing it into his pockets so as to not let them touch the floor.

you cry out when his lips find your dripping cunt, devouring you from behind. his strong fingers grip your ass, pulling your cheeks apart slightly to give him better access to his favorite dessert. like you yourself had earlier, he moans at the taste and his vibrations resonate straight to your g spot. your knees buckle at the pleasure, and you do your best to keep your moans muffled in case anyone was waiting outside the locked door.

rafayel fucks you with his tongue languidly, his hand reaching between your legs to rub at your throbbing nub. your eyes roll into your head, and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, biting down to stop the scream from ripping out.

rafayel is unhappy with your muffled cries of ecstasy, wanting to hear you in full. he stands to his full height, leaving you whimpering at the loss of his warmth against your dripping pussy. he stands, incredibly tall behind you, leaning into your ear.

“you know i hate it when you hide your noises from me,” he whispers, lining up his hardened length against your hole, bending you over the sink.

“i-i don’t want anyone to h-hear,” you stutter, grinding yourself onto his cock, wanting to be filled. 

rafayel rubs himself against you, gathering your slick and lathering it all over, “then i’ll just have to force them out of you, huh?” with that slight threat, he sheathes himself fully into you, you practically scream into your hand, except this time rafayel yanks your hand away, holding it behind your back firmly. your scream echoes against the walls of the bathroom, and you pray no one is outside the door. anyone within ten feet of the door would undoubtedly hear the lewd noises coming from inside the bathroom.

“let me hear you,” he purrs against your ear, thrusting slowly into your gummy walls. but still, you bite your lip, the idea of someone hearing you both mortifying and incredibly hot. 

his thrusts are rough and demanding, making you bump into the cold surface of the sink. with rafayel’s other hand he grabs your chin between his fingers and holds it up so that your eyes level with the mirror in front of you.

“watch. watch me fuck you baby,” his voice is so charismatic you can’t help but obey him. your eyes meet his in the mirror, as you watch his face contort as he fucked into your womb. he smirks at you, hands leaving your face when he’s sure you won’t look away, to grip your waist. his large hands manhandled you so deliciously, using your body like a toy against his ravaging strokes. 

watching rafayel’s cocky smile as he forced you to keep contact with his eyes through the mirror quickly drove you closer and closer to your climax, the excitement of it all unbearable. your moans echoed throughout the bathroom, the sounds of his pelvis hitting your ass deafening. 

rafayel ravages you with the intent to make you absolutely lose your mind. he wants you to moan so loudly that you can’t restrain your cries of pleasure, so that anyone outside could hear exactly what he was doing to you.

“that’s my – haah –fucking girl,” he moans, hand smacking against the ripples of your ass bouncing against him. you yelp at the contact, the pain mixing deliciously with the endless ecstasy. your walls sucked him in repeatedly, squeezing every inch of his length, trying to milk him. “taking me so so well. hah – look at you, spoiling me for my birthday.”

his palm gently strikes your rear again, “i must be the luckiest damn man on this planet. in this galaxy.” he reaches to your front, rifling through all your layers of tulle to find your clit, rubbing the slick nub until tears leaked out of your eyes. 

“r-raf, feels s-sooo good,” you slurred, leaning backwards so you could reach up for his hair as he gripped you from behind. your bare back slotted tightly against his chest and your fingers gripped into his soft purple hair, tugging roughly. you laid your messy hair into his chest, and he rested his chin in the crook of your shoulder and neck, and the two of you made eye contact in the mirror. 

rafayel always put your pleasure above anything else, focussing on making you feel good before he even thought about himself. but your ecstasy was his pleasure. and so as he watched your face contort, eyes practically all whites, tongue lolling out of your beautiful lips, tears running down your face, his cock throbbed wanting to fill you to the absolute brim.

he was suddenly filled with the urge, the need to breed you. his woman, who’d dressed up just for him, in a set that was undoubtedly picked just to drive him insane. his love, who he spent the whole night admiring from across the room, when all he wanted for his birthday was to be with you. his girl, his everything, who’d spent weeks planning a whole night for him, even if it didn’t turn out the way he’d have wanted. 

well that wasn’t entirely true. it actually did turn out exactly the way he’d wanted, with you a wet whimpering mess for him, his cock stuffed inside you while you begged for more. this was in fact exactly how he wanted to spend every second of his birthday, inside you.

“you’re – hah – all mine,” he slurred, drunk off your pussy, his thrusts becoming sloppier with each stroke, “i’m gonna cum in you tonight, ‘kay?”

you nod eagerly, watching his feral expression in the mirror. his brows crinkled adorably, with his lip gripped tightly in his teeth. “you’re gonna – fuuck – walk around the rest of the night with my cum leaking out of you, okay baby?”

you clench at his filthy words, knowing he’s dead serious. amidst the lust filled haze, you’re so fucked out that nothing sounds better than that. the idea of having to mingle with so many people while rafayel’s claim to you literally drips down your legs is just enough to have you crying out for him, completely uninhibited.there was no doubt anyone even remotely near the bathroom would’ve heard the way you wailed and moaned for him.

you catch rafayel’s satisfied smirk in the mirror as he takes you repeatedly from behind, eyes still glued to yours. the heat in his blue-purple orbs is palpable, almost threatening to devour you whole, and your grip tightens in his hair. you pull him impossibly closer, straining your neck painfully so you can turn and kiss him. 

he leans in so you don’t have to bend too far backward, taking your lips passionately into his, even at this awkward angle. you slide your tongue into his mouth, wanting to take the teeniest bit of control as his cock burrowed its way into your stomach, claiming every inch of your gummy walls. 

rafayel moaned at the feeling of your sweet tongue flickering against his, letting you explore his mouth. he was happy to relinquish control, even if only slightly, especially if it meant he could watch the way your face contorted at every little movement he made. 

the mirror made things exponentially more erotic, the way he could see his girl blissed out in front of him, and admire every single angle and aspect of you taking him so beautifully. the way you could watch each other, watch the way your bodies made absolute art together. 

as your tongues danced, your cunt clenched in anticipation, wanting desperately to release all over him. 

“r-raf,” you pant, “m’so close.” 

“m-me too love,” he ground into your ear, teeth gritting on the brink of pain, “gonna paint your beautiful little pussy ‘kay?”

you nod vigorously, eyes shutting as you feel the orgasm creeping up on you and igniting every nerve ending on fire. you gasp as you feel rafayel’s fingers gently grip your throat, squeezing just enough to have sparks ignite in your vision. 

“watch,” he commanded forcefully, a rough demand you so rarely heard lacing his alluring musical voice, “need you to watch when i pump you full of my seed, okay love?”

you force your eyes to stay open, watching the primal expression on his face as his thrusts go deeper, harder. he forces himself into brushing harshly into your g spot, his free hand returning to rub ruthless circles onto your soaked clit. 

you scream out when he touches you, every single point of contact an endless tsunami of pleasure. his eyes command yours, forcing you to watch every single thing he does to your body. 

“god you’re so fucking beautiful, and you’re gonna – hah – look even more beautiful with my baby inside you.”

your eyes widen at his words, lust getting the better of your usually sound judgment as you clench uncontrollable around his throbbing cock. he hisses at the harsh squeeze.

“such a greedy girl,” he huffs breathlessly into your earlobe, nibbling down gently, “you want to be a mommy that bad? you’re trying to – hah fuck –  squeeze it out of me?” 

his words push you tumbling into your body numbing orgasm. you’re unable to hold back the scream that wrenches from deep in your throat, rafayel’s fingers still gripping forcefully. 

“oh god, m’cumming raf, cumming so hard,” you wail, body fluttering around him uncontrollably and knees going weak. rafayel holds you steady so that you don’t crash into the floor as he continues to fuck into your body, so close to his own unraveling. he only grunts in response, losing himself in the tightness and warmth of your grip on him.

“please, please, please!” you beg, wanting him to give you everything he has. you’re still in the thick of your orgasm and you wracked with the absolute need to feel him all over your insides. 

rafayel whimpers into your ear, getting wrapped up in the way you beg for him, “sh-shit y/n, if you keep s-squeezing like that i’m gonna –” he cuts himself with a torrid curse as your orgasm causes you to crush him inside of you.

“y-yes please. raf please. i need you s’bad,” you cry as he stares at you in the mirror, refusing to let go of eye contact. you’re desperate to feel him release inside you while you’re still in the midst of your own climax.

“o-okay love, anything for my needy little princess,” he groans out, before unleashing the most unholiest of swears, erection faltering inside you and trembling as it unloads completely. 

rafayel grips you for dear life as he cums inside you, his load hot, thick, and unrelenting. his hand is still at your throat as he whimpers into your ear, his breath hot and warm on your skin. you watch the euphoria on his face as he continues to rock into you, his copious release already leaking out, dripping down your thighs.

you reel, feeling faint and short of breath, as you come down from your high, still leaning back into rafayel’s sturdy stature. his arms move to wrap securely around you, kissing the curve of your neck as his languid thrusts slow to a stop. 

“you’re the best birthday present ever,” he murmurs, burying his face into your neck and inhaling your pheromones, absolutely drunk off of you. he removes himself from the warmth of your cunt, and you whimper as your combined release comes rushing down your thighs, your poor pussy just unable to hold the sheer amount of release rafayel had pumped into you.

you try your best to smooth your dress, grabbing some paper towels to wipe your thighs off. but rafayel stops you, his fingers gentle but firm against your wrist.

“what are you doing?” he’s smirking at you, so much mischievous light in his eyes. he fishes your panties out of his pocket and hands them to you expectantly. 

“put them back on,” he grins at you, looking absolutely and devilishly handsome despite having just ravaged you thoroughly. you on the other hand looked like a mess, like you’d undoubtedly just been fucked. 

you’re about to whine and complain, but you bite it back, wanting to please your birthday boy. sighing, you lift your dress, slowly slipping the panties back on. you wince as the fabric dampens, pushing the release back into your sopping cunt.

“let me see.” rafayel is on his knees in between your legs again before you know it, widening the slit of your gown. he admires you for a good ten seconds, before kissing your inner thighs and rising back to his feet. 

“are you satisfied?” you tease, trying to shake off the discomfort between your legs. 

“hmm…i guess you’re a little forgiven…'' he feigns being deep in thought, scratching his chin with his fingers, “i expect many more presents when i take you home tonight.”

you lean up on your tiptoes, even in your heels rafayel still towered over you, and brushed a gentle kiss to his lips. you giggle at the way even the softest kiss has his ears and cheeks turning deeply pink. “there will be many more presents for you waiting at home. of the naked variety.”

you thoroughly enjoy the way rafayel shys away from your eyes, the crimson on his face deepening. his excitement is evident by the way he has to readjust his dress pants, and he clears his throat trying to calm himself down. 

“you’re going to regret that at home, sweetheart,” he grumbles.

“will i?” you can’t stop teasing him, your eyes glimmering with mischief as you whip around as gracefully as you can, slipping out of the bathroom and leaving him thoroughly frazzled behind you.

–

you spend the rest of the night trying to mingle with rafayel’s guests, and trying your best to ignore the way rafayel’s cosmic eyes track your every move. the way you feel like he can see right through your layers and layers of tulle, and see his milky white essence dripping slowly down your thighs. 

he grins at you from across the room, raising his glass of champagne at you as he throws himself animatedly into conversation with his guests, with much more enthusiasm and vigor than he had previously all night. and when he did take you home that night, he absolutely did make you regret teasing him on his very own birthday, in ways that had you unable to walk the next day.

© aeyumicore 2024. please do not steal ♡

tag list: @queenashen @kttriangle @lyssa-211 @jeikeun

❝ 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒! ❞ smau school au, reo mikage x fem reader, in which...

— reo mikage, loved by everyone in the school which he proudly manages thanks to his role as president of the student council, finds himself having to chase the school delinquent, the well known y/n. but when both are seen by the vice president of the council, kagaya surimani, in a strange situation... well, the school will start talking about it, a lot

— all the characters are the same age as in the manga, while y/n is 17, a few months younger than reo

— there will be written chapters, not just photo chapters

— no soccer here! just a big school

• your account / y/n

• reo mikage

— parts of the smau

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

... soon!

— TAGLIST OPEN!!

@anglefish3008 ; @yiiscorner ; @levihanmyotp ; @tired-child00 ; @mochiii-sama ; @yuukiririix ; @kaz-0e ; @violetesensou ; @sapph1r3x ; @rink1sser ; @sellomaybe ; @n0ah-hal00 ; @enepsigosthelast ; @yourlocaleffy ; @yukar1k ; @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 ; @lilwx ; @i-am-the-raiden-shogun ; @literallyushiwaka ; @arwawawa2 ; @definitelynotanalien ; @reiners-milkbiddies ; @fishii28 ; @hinamaxxing ; @sikuthealien ; @mo072806 ; @jealovsie ; @tenjikusstuff4 ; @idexmids ; @sugarcor3 ; @kaidostwin ; @kaikaidenkai ; @waa4hhh ; @realrintaro ; @rottingvxmpire

𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

request; Hello I was wondering if you could do a Liam Mairi x reader where involving the side-effects of having bonded mated dragons pair so they absolutely go feral with eachother while using the prompt "That's it, fuck, that's a good girl."

synopsis; you and liam discover the trouble with mated dragons when you wind up in his bed. hidden feelings threaten to come to light.

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; smut (18+ only), p in v, soft sex w feels

word count; 2.6k

Reaching out blindly until your hand snags against the soft fabric of Liam’s sleep shirt, you take a shuddering breath as a surge of arousal locks you on the spot, every muscle coiling tight when you press your forehead to the wall and tug him closer. His thighs are bare and they flex when he stumbles towards you, bracing himself by means of a hand either side of your head, corded biceps caging you in when a ragged pant rips through you and you grit your teeth.

“Easy,” he murmurs, though his voice is strained, the veins that wrap the lengths of his forearms like vines protruding from the creamy skin. You suppress a pathetic little noise that bubbles from the base of your throat, tipping your head back as Liam’s hand makes contact with the skin there. “Shh, shh.”

“Li-“ you whisper through gritted teeth. “I need you to tell me to go away. I can’t- can’t control myself.”

“No-“ he says, quickly – too quickly, desperation lining his every syllable. You’re all too familiar with the feeling, the panic that seeps into his voice at the prospect of you leaving in search of another man’s bed. He’s not too proud to beg you. “No. Stay, please.”

The thought of you leaving is near unbearable now he’s close enough to touch you — feel you. Close enough to smell the shampoo in the wisps of hair that fall around your flushed face, close enough that the scent of you cloys in his nostrils and throws all inhibitions out the window.

His body presses against yours and the contact sets every nerve ending you possess alight. You tremble when he glides steady fingers - much steadier than you’re feeling right now - over your half-bare shoulder where your t-shirt has slipped downward, coming to a halt over your skittering pulse. His head falls forward into the juncture of your neck.

“Fuck.” His voice is rasping, barely there in your ears as Deigh does something Áine particularly likes and a crusade of need slams through him.

You thread your fingers through the blond tresses that tickle at your skin, pointedly ignoring the obvious disparity of your bodies, how his dwarfs your own, the way it makes your head spin with the need to get closer, to claw your way into his skin and feel every inch of him.

“Liam,” you whine softly, arching into him as those thick arms twine around your waist, pulling your torso flush to his own. He squeezes you, hands slipping beneath the t-shirt you’re clad in, palming and groping at every bump and ridge, every hill and valley of flesh he can reach. He ventures lower; your fingers tense where they still lay in his soft hair, and when his palms flatten and tap firmly at the backs of your thighs, you know what he wants.

You oblige the clear instruction, pushing yourself up from the balls of your feet until you’re in Liam’s arms, legs looped around his waist and ankles crossed at the base of his spine. Your back hits the wall as he surges forward to nose at your jugular. His lips part, tongue flicking forward to lave at your balmy skin. As his head dips, trailing a hot, wet path of half moons in the wake of his lips, you shudder.

“I know, my girl. I know,” he coos, sympathetic. His words slur and jumble, each sound melting into the next as though he’s drunk from the feel - the taste - of you alone.

The pet name would be enough to have you melting with affection under usual circumstances— now, it’s enough to have you whining, craning your head to slant your lips hungrily over his own, uncaring if it’s messy or filthy or downright sinful. Your only mission is to feel him, to get closer, to roam every inch of him with your ravenous tongue and teeth and lips— greedy for his touch.

If anyone were to walk in they’d certainly blanch at the sight; you pinned against the wall closest to the door of Liam’s room, his eager fingers splayed over your ass as you breathe into each other’s mouths. You’re unconsciously grinding down into him in quick, fervent bursts, and he reciprocates the movement appreciatively, letting you slide down the cold wall until the thick length of him presses to your wet cunt— hindered only by the fabric of his boxers and the lace of your panties.

The material is almost translucent, soaked through with your arousal. Liam coos something sympathetic that you can’t quite decipher for the fog that clouds your every nerve ending, for the hand that slips between your bodies until his thumb is rubbing tight circles into your swollen clit through the ruined fabric. Tears burn at the backs of your eyes and you tremble round him, the pleasure everything you need and somehow nowhere near enough, all at once.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs. “‘ve got you, angel. ‘S okay.”

You gasp wetly against his kiss-bitten lips, the only warning you give as you begin shuddering against him, your climax ripping through you before you even have time to think. Everything is so sensitive, every brush and graze of his skin against your own amplified tenfold— it’s too much but still, you greedily accept everything he’s willing to give you, teary eyes trained to his throat that works around a swallow as he watches you cum with heavy lidded eyes. Babbling around a sob, you part your lips from his in favour of sinking down into the juncture of his neck, your hot cheeks searing against the cooler skin that greets you like a soothing balm.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

“Liam,” you hiccup, grabbing large fistfuls of his t-shirt, the flimsy material the only thing that separates you from miles of toned skin and muscle. That lopsided grin cracks across his face, a dimple cratering onto the centre of his cheek as his teeth flash in an amused smile; his chest heaves, even more so when you slip your hands underneath his tee to palm at bare skin.

Setting you down on shaking legs, his hand encircles one of your wrists and tugs, leading you until you’re perched at the edge of the bed. He turns, elbows flaring wide as he pulls at the neckline of his shirt and drags the material over his head in one fluid motion. The planes of his back are bared to you, each individual muscle rolling and moving with one another as though they’re cogs in a well oiled machine. You want your mouth on every inch of that skin– no corner, no crevice left untouched.

And then he’s on you, prowling with a predatory glint in those cerulean eyes as his pupils swallow the bright hue of his irises; all he sees is you– the way you shrink and tremble at the fervent way he surveys you.

A wide palm slips beneath your own tee and curls around your ribcage, frantically rising and falling with every laboured breath. He shucks the fabric upward to expose your soft breasts to the cool air of the room, and watches with rapt fascination as your nipples harden into peaks under his attention.

You shift until you’re propped up on your elbows to allow him space to discard the item of clothing, complying when he nudges you until you’re flat against the mattress, legs hooked over his hips. Your head turns, face burning at the wolfish way his eyes rake over you, a great contrast to the flattened hands that scrub sweeping lines over the tops of your thighs to soothe your nerves.

“Don’t hide from me, angel,” he murmurs, folding at the waist to smear a kiss against the curve of your jaw. His next words are a rumble against your skin that seep into your pores, into your very bones. “If it gets too much for you, all you have to do is tell me. And we’ll stop. Okay?”

His cadence is low and rasping, and the feel of the bridge of his nose pressed to your cheek sending a wave of affection through you that knocks the breath from your lungs. You nod.

“Words, sweet girl.”

“Okay,” you croak.

“Good girl.”

Your pussy aches with a sharp throb when he reaches down to press his thumb back to your swollen bundle of nerves; you whine, hips canting up into his touch unconsciously as he slips the wet material down your legs and discards them somewhere behind him.

He presses a kiss to your tummy, your knee, your ankle, and then pushes your legs up and back until they’re folded atop your chest. You gasp when his warm breath fans over your bare sex.

“Liam.”

“I know, angel,” he grunts. His voice patters out into breathless silence as you part your thighs, splaying a hand across his thrumming pulse to wrench him upwards and towards you. He doesn’t resist, putty in your hands. Absolutely, wholly yours.

“Please,” you whisper; his nose brushes yours. “Need you.”

He parts your lips with his own, slaking his hunger on you. He revels in every noise he pulls from your slick lips, every whine and gasp and plead for him to give you what you want. He swallows them all greedily and when - and only when - he’s decided you’ve begged him prettily enough, does he free his weeping cock and line up with your entrance.

He sinks in slowly, every thick inch of him splitting you wider than the previous. He’s thick, cock twitching against your cunt as the flushed head practically begs to be buried inside of you. The colour bleeds from your knuckles as you clutch his biceps, leaving crescent moon indents in the wake of your cruel touch; he hisses, and when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, he sweeps down again to press wet, ardent kisses to your face and neck. He hooks your legs up against his hips, pulling back to rock back into the tight clutch of your cunt with slow, rhythmic movements.

He hits every spot inside of you without trying, the spongy head of him rubbing continuously over a particular spot you haven’t discovered yet; it has you keening, sobbing out a broken moan against his balmy cheek as he coos gentle praises against the shell of your ear.

His entire focus is fixated on him desperately trying to not blow his load at the first feel of your cunt clasping him, breathing deeply through his nostrils as he props a forearm either side of your head.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasps, picking up his pace as your enthusiasm starts to peak, your shaking fingers tangling in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Your body arches beneath him, head tipping back when a soft whine spills from your swollen lips.

The lewd sound of slapping skin and heavy breathing encases your senses, drives you further to that edge that you’ve been aching for since you entered the room.

He’s so beautiful like this it sets you alight with adoration— and arousal: blond hair mussed and falling over his eyes, face flushed as he dips down to brush his nose with your own, plush, pink lips parted into a gasp when you clench around him.

“‘M so close, Li,” you croak, tightening your fingers where they’re carding through his hair.

“I know, angel. I know.” Deft fingers slide between your bodies as he works over your clit rhythmically— sweeping movements that alternate between tight circles and up and down motions as he places pressure on that bundle of nerves.

A sweet, quiet little gasp spills from your lips, and Liam doesn’t miss the way you tense, clinging to him harder as you shatter.

He coaxes you through it, movements never slowing as you ride out your peak, whining against his lips when he swallows your sounds with his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until you’re squirming and writhing beneath him, kicking your legs feebly to push him away; he shudders at the movement, back bowing in the centre until he’s spilling into you with a groan. He braces himself with his head buried in the juncture of your neck, arms hooking around the base of your spine to hold you flush to him.

You both collapse in a haphazard mound of limbs and you roll onto your side to face Liam, his cheek still pressed to yours. He brushes the bridge of his nose along the length of your cheekbone, his smile imprinted into your skin as you hum and needle your way closer into his chest.

You don’t know what to say— neither does he. This silence is comfortable regardless, the gentle, lulling energy encasing the pair of you in this bubble.

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your sticky forehead, smearing a kiss along the crown of your skull. Your lashes flutter, body soft and lax against his own as you greedily seep up his warmth. You’re weightless, your head pleasantly blank when he pulls the blankets over you, pressing a final kiss to your cheek before he’s pushing himself out of the bed and to the bathroom.

There’s some shuffling and then emerges seconds later, clad in a clean pair of boxers and clutching a t-shirt for you to take. You’re still how he left you, laying on your side and dozing, cheek smushed against the back of your hand.

“C’mon, angel,” he murmurs, hooking an arm beneath your shoulder to hike you upright, handing you the tee; you rub at your heavy eyes with the backs of your fingers, swiping the fog away. He settles himself between your legs to clean you up, swiping a tissue between your thighs.

“You don’t have to do that, Li,” you croak. “‘M okay, I’ve got it.”

You make to loop your fingers around his wrist to halt his movements, but he only tuts and swats your hand away with a smile. Affection rises in your chest, hot and fast and blinding.

“I’ve got you, my girl.”

There’s that name again. My girl. You’re melting, sure you’re nothing but a pile of mush following those two little words; he surveys you with those cerulean eyes, laced with nothing less than adoration.

“Liam,” you whine, protesting.

“Oh, hush.” He presses a kiss to the curve of your kneecap before pushing the blankets back over your legs.

You pull the oversized tee he’s pushed into your hands over your head appreciatively, resisting the urge to bury your face into the fabric and inhale at the scent of him that cloys the room, that swirls around your face in tantalising tendrils.

You love him, you realise. The admission isn’t terrifying as you thought it would be, but rather a calm wave that washes over you and grants you a newfound clarity. You want this all the time with him. You want everything.

The bed dips as he returns to your side, an arm around your waist until you’re both propped against the headboard, your face resting in the dip of his collarbone. You feel his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

Your chest feels as though it might cave in at any moment, the sheer volume of love you hold for this boy too much for your body to hold onto. You brush your lips against his shoulder, blinking slowly in your haze. The rumble of his laugh carries right down to your bones.

“You’re beautiful,” you mumble, already half-asleep.

“You’re more beautiful,” he whispers back as though it’s a secret. Private words shared between the pair of you, for no one else to hear.

You’re asleep before you can respond, draped lazily over his torso. He shucks the blankets up until they’re covering you right up to your shoulders. Your nose scrunches unconsciously.

Fuck, he loves you.

just how fast the night changes

Change is scary, if not horrifying. Though you haven't seen each other in years, but the underlying affection you have for one another with never change.

childhood friends ---> lovers

ft. Isagi

(reader is fem)

As children, you guys were inseparable.

His parents, your parents, the aunties and uncles, even other kids that you both knew were convinced you guys were going to get married.

As teenagers, you stayed just as inseparable, now branching out to new possibilities.

You would study together, play video games together, go to the movies together. As time went on both of you made new friends, you guys would join the friend groups and go out to the arcade or the cafe.

That was until Blue Lock.

As adults, you were just a blissful memory to each other.

You couldn't be mad at him, but the fact he didn't reach out ticked you off. The changes did in fact drive you insane at first. You went from talking everyday, being together at all times, to only seeing him on the TV. You always saw him on the TV at your favorite small cafe. He changed, but not so much. You knew him through and through. His eyes, his childlike smile, the way his face would flush pink when he was really happy. He was the same Yoichi you knew as a toddler.

One day, the Isagi family invited your family and a few others over for a little reunion. You, despite being piled up with work, decided to stop by to show respect. Driving down the suburban roads, your mind kept shifting. You couldn't help but think about Yoichi, I mean, would he end up being there? No way, you thought.

You parked right in front of the Isagi household, texting your mom that you were there, and taking a deep breath before stepping out and locking your car.

You rang the doorbell with a bouquet of flowers in your hand, and a nice fruit basket in the other.

Anxiously waiting for the door to open, you stared at the ground praying that he wouldn't be there. Not that you hated him or anything, but you didn't think your heart could take it.

You heard excited conversation and footsteps approaching the door, preparing yourself to walk in.

That when the door opened, and there he was Isagi Yoichi, star football player for Bastard Munchen in all his glory.

Your stomach sank as your heartbeat sped up, why was he here, and why did he look good?

Hair slightly damp, probably from the shower, a plain white shirt and light wash jeans. He looked like his usual adorable self, just a bit taller, and more muscular.

"Hi" He said awkwardly with that dumb flushed smile of his, guess that hasn't changed either.

"Hi, how have you been?" You responded in efforts to not make the situation more awkward.

Before he could say anything, his mom pushed him aside to see you.

"Oh my goodness! You've grown beautifully my dear!" She exclaimed, you had always loved his mom, she was the cutest thing on this Earth. She then smacked Yoichi's arm, he flinched in response with puzzled look on his face.

"Yoichi, have you no manners! Invite her inside!" She scolded.

He gestured for you to come inside while pouting at his mom. You laughed before placing your shoes in the corner of the entryway.

You greeted the aunties and old friends and sat down at the table next to Isagi. All was good and well, not awkward at all until one aunty spoke a bit too honestly.

"My goodness, you two are just made for each other, even as kids! It was just meant to be!"

The tension in the atmosphere was intense. You accidentally made eye contact with him before quickly looking the other way to hide your embarrassment. You didn't look long enough to see the pink dusted over his cheeks and the tips of his ears, the warmth was quickly crawling up to his face, and was not doing him any favors.

"Awww they're so shy! Look at them." She continued.

Then another aunty chimed in.

"Just look how red his face is! What a pair!"

Soon all the uncles and aunties were laughing about how perfect you guys were for each other, you quickly excused yourself to the restroom.

You immediately took a sigh of relief before rubbing the sides of your temples. The comments were getting to your head, and awakening the young girl who could've sworn she was in love with Yoichi Isagi and was going to marry him. You knew that deep down, that young girl never left. Like a fool, you still have deep feelings for him. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down before walking out of the restroom. You were about to seat yourself at the large table again, but the room at the end of the hallway caught your attention.

Yoichi's room.

You didn't want to go in, because that is so creepy, but it didn't feel like that. You had spent years of your life in that room, it was like a second room.

You walked into the room, it hasn't changed at all, except for the few new posters on his wall of his teams logo. You looked around and smiled, same old Yoichi.

You looked around to see if anything else was changed, and a certain photo caught you eye.

On his desk, there was a small, black photo frame on his desk. A photo of the two of you on the first day of highschool, a selfie at the small cafe you loved (the one you still go to). You both looked so young, so cheerful and so absorbed in each other.

You recognized the frame, because you gave it to him. A decorated frame, but the photo was the two of you as kids, around 7 years old, the picture was new. He chose the current picture. Picking it up in your hands, you felt a wave of a mournful feeling wash over you. You missed him a lot, and this feeling proved it.

"Hi, stranger."

Your soul nearly jumped out of you when you heard him speak from behind you. When you met his eyes, embarrassment washed over you. He was looking at you, leaned against the doorway.

"I didn't want to go back out there so I just kinda walked in here, sorry." You said quickly, hoping you didn't look like a creep.

"You left me for the wolves, I feel so betrayed." He said, a bit of sarcasm laced behind his words.

You dryly laughed through your breath, still looking awkward as hell standing in the middle of his room.

"I missed you, a lot." He said, filling the awkward silence.

You looked at him with a wistful look in your eyes.

"I missed you too, it has been a while hasn't it?"

He nodded, lips pursed into a thin line before opening his mouth to speak again.

"I'm sorry for not keeping in touch." He said, regret in his tone.

"It's okay, you were building your career, that is more important." You smiled at him.

He couldn't help the heavy feeling in his heart.

"No, you are important too. I should've stayed in touch, I should've called or texted or emailed or something. I shouldn't have left my best friend behind."

Best friend, ouch.

you almost felt pity for yourself before reminding yourself that you have moved on.

"Believe me Isagi, it is fine, you had a lot on your plate, i'll always be here if you need me though, I hope you know that."

He froze. Isagi? Since when did you call him Isagi? It was always either Yoichi, Yoi, or even dumbass.

"We've been so out of touch that I was demoted to just Isagi huh?" He laughed a bit with a sarcastic hurt look on his face, but internally he was actually so hurt. You rolled your eyes while laughing with him.

"Well, we aren't kids anymore Isagi."

That hit him hard.

"I wish we were still kids."

A silence washed over the room, both of you refused to speak.

You looked at the ground uncomfortably, not knowing what to say.

Isagi decided, screw it, it's now or never.

He closed the six feet between you two, tilting your head up with his hand on your jaw and kissed you. When you pulled away, he stared down into your eyes, looking for any kind of discomfort. That was until you pulled him back in. Years of yearning and false beliefs that what you felt was unrequited led to this very moment, and this made it all worth it. You pulled away again, this time looking up at him with a bright smile on your face. The hand you had placed on the back of his head came forward and pushed the slightly overgrown bangs out of his face.

As adults, you were each other's everything.

2 months later (in your room this time)

"You know, I chose that picture because that's the day I realized I was in love with you."

You rolled your eyes, heat crawling up to your face at the confession.

"Well you always have been corny." You laugh.

He did a faux gasp, faking offense.

"How could you say this to me?" He pretends to wipe his tears.

You hit him lightly with a pillow, laughing at his behavior.

He grabs a pillow and lightly hits back, which resulted in a mini pillow fight. Flopping backwards into your bed, you nuzzled into Yoichi's side, holding his arm.

With a matching photo frame of your teenage photo in your vision staring right back at you.

xoxo, august